


Sweet Summer Child

by Theonenamedafterahat



Series: A girl that dreamed of stars/A boy that counted them all [1]
Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Accidental Killing, Patricide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:09:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonenamedafterahat/pseuds/Theonenamedafterahat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her husband had once given Pythagoras a piece of advice that had meant something to the boy, at the time at least. "If you're going to kill a man," he said, "always do it with a sword. Always a sword. And that way, he knows you meant to kill him. When I die, I want it to mean something." And now her boy, the sweet summer child they had made together was finally remembering those words, and Pythais knew that she shared the blame as much as any, for letting such poison be spoken under her roof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Summer Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThornWild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornWild/gifts).



> For ThornWild, who reminded me to always give a summary. And then called my writing beautiful.

Mnesarchus was not a good man. Pythais had known this when they were married, though she would not admit it to anybody. He had saved their whole island from famine by diverting his shipment of grain, and she was his reward. Her father had cried when he told her the deal, the bargain that had saved them all. She hated seeing such a strong man brought down by grief. Mnesarchus had saved them from starvation, but she would make sure that not one of the elders who had watched her grow and learn for almost two decades ever felt ashamed of what they had to do for their children, and their children's children. 

She smiled on their wedding day, and she carried her new husband out of the feasting hall herself when he was too drunk to stand. She let him into her bed, and when their first child came, she proudly proclaimed him to be 'his father's son'. And she prayed night and day to Athena, to Artemis and to Poseidon that this would be true. But Pythagoras had taken after her in more than name, and Mnesarchus stopped his efforts to turn the boy into a strong fighter, and focused on his wife again. Two seasons after their second boy, Arcus, came into their lives, he had focused on drinking again. And Pythagoras' blue eyes saw more than they had when he was small. 

Pythais had let herself be made a victim of her husband, and a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, a girl who read every word that came her way and dreamed about the stars, would have been sick to her stomach if she saw her. She almost never left her house, and Pythagoras almost never left her side, except when Mnesarchus decided to return home from the tavern. 

She hadn't known that he could hear his father from his bed. Maybe if she had, she would have done something.

She didn't even see him get between her and Mnesarchus. But then her ears were ringing, and the stink of mead was everywhere. 

Pythagoras had never taken to the sword Mnesarchus had forced into his hands, so he had just put himself in front of her, and pushed as hard as he could. The next thing she knew, her husband was on the floor, and there was blood pooling beneath his head, dark and captivating. He had hit the table corner on his descent. 

Her husband had once given Pythagoras a piece of advice that had meant something to the boy, at the time at least. "If you're going to kill a man," he said, "always do it with a sword. Always a sword. And that way, he knows you meant to kill him. When I die, I want it to mean something." And now her boy, the sweet summer child they had made together was finally remembering those words, and Pythais knew that she shared the blame as much as any, for letting such poison be spoken under her roof.

Pythagoras hadn't said a word, hadn't even moved. His hands shook. He cried quietly, just as he always had. Beautiful, clever, brilliant boy. 

She took him by the hand, and sat him down, moving herself to block the view of the corpse of her husband. 

"Do not try to talk, Pythagoras. You did well, and what has happened here is not your fault."

He wouldn't look at her. 

"We will keep what has happened here a secret, yes? Your brother is young. He does not need to know."

This all proceeded a long night, followed by an even longer day. She never found it in her heart to blame either of her sons for their actions following that night, and Arcus became more like his father with each passing year. 

And Pythagoras never stopped saying sorry in everything he did. For her, for poor young Arcus, he was always so sorry. She never forgot his smile, just as she would never forget her books, or her husbands fists.


End file.
